


A Change of Scene

by Marquise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 02:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/pseuds/Marquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Tyrells succeed in getting Sansa to Highgarden, where she gets her first impressions of her soon-to-be husband.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Change of Scene

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round 4 of the got_exchange on livejournal.

It was difficult not to be overwhelmed by the sheer _abundance_ of Highgarden.

Nearly a month after her “rescue”—Sansa had difficulty calling it that, even in her own mind—she still found herself rendered breathless by even the smallest of tasks. Every morning she woke to sunlight streaming through high windows, the dawn accompanied by a floral fragrance that was almost otherworldly. She would lie among her silk sheets and down comforters and watch as the light made a path against the smoothly polished floor, struggling all the while to calm the pounding of her heart.

Her dreams were painful things, and the escape from King’s Landing and the passage of time had done nothing to alleviate the terror that waited for her in sleep. If anything, her dreams had worsened in the weeks since she had arrived, as if the peace and beauty of her surroundings had made the ugliness in her mind that much sharper. 

She kept that ugliness to herself, buried deep down, almost as if she were ashamed to bring such thoughts into such a peaceful place. She wasn’t sure if she should be proud of the fact that no one ever asked her what was troubling her. 

It wasn’t just this sense of shame that kept her from letting her hosts—her betrothed, her _family_ —from knowing the depths of her unease. It wasn’t a need to impress them that made her lock herself away before she cried, or steady her hands if they threatened to shake over nothing. It was preservation. 

Sansa couldn’t quite put her finger on _why_ , but despite the kindness and goodness she saw in the Tyrells something about Highgarden left her with a deep sense of unease. She knew, deep inside, that it would be foolish to let her guard down for long when she was around them. Maybe it was simply a reflex that had become ingrained in her, and from which she would never truly escape. Or perhaps she sensed something underneath the too charming smiles and easy airs, something that gave her pause. 

At any rate she had become very good at the art of appearing innocent. In the mornings she would leave the comforts of her bed, heartbeat steady and breathing even, and break her fast with what remained of the household in this time of war. She would converse with Willas in light tones, would laugh gaily, and would ignore the times when the food tasted of ash.

\----

Willas was a good man. Of that she had no doubt, though it had taken her almost a fortnight to form that opinion. And even after that, even with her conviction, there remained something about him that just didn’t sit right with her. 

More often than not they broke their fast alone, with only one or two servants in attendance. This, she had quickly begun to realize, was the best time in which to get a sense of his character, as he was less guarded and they were less observed. In the beginning Sansa made as much use of the awkward silences as she could, watching her betrothed with a forcefully passive gaze. Her time in King’s Landing had taught her all too well the dangers of hasty impressions. So she held back, she observed.

He was more Garlan than Loras in appearance, tall and well-built with a neatly trimmed beard. He was not beautiful or angelic in the ways the knights were in the songs, but he had all of his family’s ease and grace and made a more than amiable companion. And really, had he been smooth-shaven and _pretty_ , she was not sure she could have kept her body from trembling in his presence.

His injury was not as conspicuous as she had thought it would be prior to her arrival (but of course, she had yet to actually see the leg). Perhaps it had something to do with his manner, or perhaps it was the simple passage of years, but Willas was well skilled at not drawing attention to the limp, at fitting it into his stride. He brandished his cane as an accessory, never seeming to regard it as a burden, his whole character light. He never lingered on it himself, and his conversation was always so varied and lively that his company would be forced to ignore it, or at least pretend to. In every respect he was the heir of a great house—witty, intelligent, lordly in the best sense of the word—but she wondered, as she watched him make small talk with the servants and favor her with practiced smiles, how much of it was a defense mechanism. Was he this polished before the accident, or was it overcompensation? She would never raise the question, knew that he would never give her a straight answer even if she did, but she was already well aware of the survival benefits of such social graces.

And she knew something about hidden pain. In the time she had been at Highgarden she had seen him frustrated over his leg only once, but that moment had been so real and raw that she could not get the memory of it out of her head.

It had happened one evening, weeks after her arrival. He was always at his most guarded at night, she had noticed, finally settled into the armor that he started the day with. He had invited her to join him in the library after dinner, and in the corridor he had offered her his arm for the first time. She had accepted and had felt a fluttering in her heart, an emotion she assumed was long dead and that she foolishly gave into. 

Halfway to the library something had caused him to lose his balance. He had practically fallen on top of her, his leg giving out from underneath him. His weight wasn’t terrible, and soon enough a servant was at their side (Willas apologizing the whole time, his face pale). But he didn’t meet her eyes again until the next morning and hadn’t offered her his arm since.

\----

Some days after the fall they broke their fast completely alone, the servants having retreated after laying the table. It was the first time since her arrival at Highgarden that she could truly say they were alone in each other’s company, the first time she had been with him unaccompanied by the feeling of being watched. 

It was an odd feeling, but not entirely unpleasant. The silences between them were comfortable, the unease that rested in her mind not terribly overwhelming. Yes, she could get used to this.

“Highgarden is still to your liking, I trust?” Willas asked, breaking her silent observation. As he spoke he began to peel an apple with his knife. Something about the contrast between the kind words and the knife bothered Sansa, though she told herself that he couldn’t possibly mean anything by it. _It’s only you, just you, it’s all in your head._

She pulled off a hunk from a still-warm loaf of bread and took in the spread laid before her. It was almost obscene, this amount of fresh food at a time like this. It added to the surreal feeling she had had ever since her flight. “Yes indeed. I don’t think it will ever stop being to my liking.”

“We should dread that day,” he added, and if she wasn’t mistaken she thought she saw a slight blush in his cheeks. It surprised her how much that affected her, that sudden showing of emotion and vulnerability.

_What do you really want with me?_ She wanted to give voice to that question so badly it was as if she was burning up inside, but she knew she couldn’t. She didn’t _want_ to, as she knew it would destroy the peace of the morning. But he was so kind, so welcoming, and for what? The daughter of a disgraced house? The spawn of a traitor to the throne? No, there had to be something else for him to gain, she knew it, even though the fact that she had to view his kindness in such terms sickened her.

But even still, that show of emotion had been genuine. She knew it was, protected that conviction from the more cynical parts of her mind.

Taking a bite of bread she thought over her words carefully before she spoke. “I can’t begin to express how much I appreciate your kindness. Considering the circumstances…”

She had planned to let the words trail off there anyway but he interrupted her, raising a hand to pause her. Willas shook his head, a sad smile on his lips—still genuine, she knew deep down. 

“I understand all too well the…circumstances, as you call it, of your leaving King’s Landing,” he said, looking her in the eye. “Just as I’m sure you understand that this marriage is politically based, do you not?”

The boldness of his question took her back, although it was exactly what she had been thinking since she had arrived here. Sansa clasped her hands together in her lap and refused to avert her gaze. “It is, isn’t it? Nothing different than when I was the Lannisters’ the only thing changed is the family.”

He laughed and shook his head, “I’m not sure I appreciate such a comparison.”

Sansa felt her cheeks burn and rushed to apologize, but again he cut her off. Resting his knife on the table she saw him wrap his fingers around the head of his cane, almost as though it could support him even now, even seated.

“I am not in position to marry anyone for reasons other than politics, but I would hope you realize how unlike I am from your former betrothed. You will be one of us now, and I also hope you have realized by now that we take care of our own, in times of injury.”

She almost objected to this assumption that she was injured, but the words stalled in her throat as she remembered the pounding of her heart that woke her that morning, that woke her every morning. 

He held her gaze, and she returned it just as intently. She knew her assumptions were true—they were well-practiced, these Tyrells, lifelong players of the game—but she also knew that the warmth she saw in Willas’ eyes at this moment was not entirely for show. His smile was shy and understanding.

She thought how nice it would be to wake up to that, and to favor him with her own smiles as she supported him. 

For the first time in a long time she felt her body unclench.


End file.
